


Give Chase

by PaulHeymanGirl



Series: And Eternal I Endure [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blood, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:18:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulHeymanGirl/pseuds/PaulHeymanGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short piece detailing exactly what Dean saw after his encounter with Bray at Elimination Chamber 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Chase

_“Where were you last night?”_

_“Got hit in the head.  Must’ve messed with me.  Woke up outside the arena at like 3 in the morning.”_

 

_“Seth you don’t know what he made me see.”_

 

“Boys like you shouldn’t come into the woods alone…”  
  
Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t come into the woods alone.  He was pretty sure he hadn’t come into the woods at all because, wait, shit, wasn’t he in the middle of a fight thirty seconds ago?  
  
And he hadn’t been alone.  
  
But now he was alone, and he was also apparently in the woods, though the woods seemed to have a lot in common with shitty backstreets in Minneapolis on a freezing cold fucking night.  Dean reached out to grab at a wall for balance, disoriented by the visual.  It was like one eye was seeing some kind of warm, lush forest and the other eye was seeing a back alley in an unfamiliar city.  
  
“You think they’ll come looking for you? Think they’ll come into the woods for you?  We both know better, boy.”  
  
That voice again.  Dean pushed away from the wall and let out a scream of frustration as it all came back to him.  He’d been with Roman and Seth.  The match against The Wyatts.  The goddamn MATCH, fuck, he’d fought with Bray out into the crowd and then, well, he couldn’t remember anything until he woke up here.  If he woke up here.  Maybe he was still knocked out in the arena, just one more head injury to add to the pile.  
  
He knew it wasn’t.    
  
“BRAY!” Dean yelled, his voice hoarse.  “Let me out of here!”  
  
The Wyatt leader’s laughter filled the air.  “You can leave whenever you want, son.  All you have to do is tell me your name.”  
  
“You know my name!” Dean yelled into the empty sky.  “I’m Dean fucking Ambrose and when I get my hands on you…”  
  
“You’re right.  I do know your name, and that’s not it.  That’s not it at all.  Seems like you’re the one who’s confused.  See, you’ve gotta tell me your true name before you can wander on back to your keepers.”  
  
Dean grit his teeth against the last slight, trying to keep it from stinging so deep.  Roman and Seth were his brothers, Roman and Seth were his brothers, Roman and Seth were his…  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of that familiar voice, eyes wide when he saw Seth standing in front of him in his ring gear, calmly letting a snake twine around his left arm.  
  
Dean swallowed.  “Seth, you’ve got a…”  
  
Seth looked from Ambrose to the snake like nothing particularly strange was going on.  And then it was if a frame suddenly skipped in a movie, for a split second Dean could see Seth still there, still holding the snake, but in a dark suit, hair pulled back, a cold look to his eyes.  But it was just for a moment, just a flicker.    
  
“Don’t worry,” Seth told Dean.  “This one’s mine.”  There was the skip again, and again, a quick back and forth that was making Dean sick to his stomach.  He closed his eyes against the motion sickness and when he opened them again Seth was gone.  
  
“Seth!” Dean yelled.  “Seth come on. Don’t leave me here.”  He took a few staggering steps forward.  “Seth!  I didn’t leave the match, Seth.”  He found his footing, feeling less dizzy.  “I didn’t leave you and Roman!  You don’t get to leave me!”  His voice found its familiar snarl as he felt the anger rising in his chest.  “You bastards don’t get to abandon me like this!”  
  
The word “abandon” echoed around him, filling the empty space for a brief moment.  Dean took a few deep, heaving breaths.    
  
Then, a motion in the distance caught his eye.  
  
“Seth?” Dean called out to it.  “Ro?”  
  
The figure paused, Dean got the feeling it was looking back at him. Then it ran.  
  
He took off running towards it, feet pounding off the ground, arms pumping hard.  The shadowed thing started running faster, but Dean kept the chase, following it through alleys and trees, leading him into darker and darker parts of the woods.  Dean barely registered the dwindling light, too caught up in the pursuit to care. He could recognize the rage growing inside of himself but it was less important than catching the figure before him.  
  
Finally, the thing led him to a dead end.  Dean grinned, savagely, knowing this was the end of the chase.  He stalked towards the shadow, drawing it out.  “Olly olly oxen free,” he taunted.  
  
He took one more step and the thing turned around.  Dean stopped dead.  
  
It was him.  It was him with that manic bared-tooth smile, that mad look in his eyes.  It was him barefoot, shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans and a black leather collar with some kind of tag hanging from it.  It was him covered in blood, smeared across his chest, his arms, his face, staining his hair.    
  
But it wasn’t him.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” Dean asked his double.  
  
It laughed.  “I’m yours.  I’m inside you.”  It stepped closer to Dean, blood dripping from its hands.  “And you let them wake me up.”  
  
“Who the fuck ARE YOU?” Dean repeated.  
  
His double raised its chin, drawing Dean’s eyes to the collar around his neck.  Dean could make out what was hanging from it now: a simple silver tag with one word written on it.  
  
“Wrath?” Dean asked.  
  
His double spoke again, but this time it was Bray’s voice coming from its mouth. “Now you know.”  
  
The world shifted and he fell to his knees, his stomach sick and body shaking.  He closed his eyes until he felt it end, until the world seemed steady again.  
  
He opened them, relieved to find himself outside the arena, kneeling on the asphalt and he assumed some broken glass.  
  
Then he caught sight of the blood all over his hands, still wet and dripping.  And he already knew it wasn’t his.  
  
He heaved, bringing up a mix of bile and blood that splashed onto the cold ground in front of him.  
  



End file.
